


epilogue

by fleuravis



Series: with nothing on my tongue but hallelujah [12]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Credence Barebone Gets a Hug, Domestic, Happy Ending, M/M, True Love, they're all grown up!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 18:21:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17472611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleuravis/pseuds/fleuravis
Summary: Credence turns his head, blinking away tears, eyes narrowing with pleasure as Percy keeps pushing in deeper, impossibly deep, reaching parts of him he didn’t even know existed. Night has fallen outside; the days are so short, giving way to these early winter evenings. Manhattan is lit up, never a single moment of silence, the city whirring on forever. It never stops.It will keep moving forever,Credence thinks.It will keep moving even after we’re gone.





	epilogue

**Author's Note:**

> wow. okay. i have some things to say.
> 
> back in the summer, i had the dumb thought that it'd be funny if the fantastic beasts characters were in a band. i could totally see newt as this shiny lovable frontman, tina as an aggressive drummer, percy as this weary rich-kid bassist and credence as the mysterious young guitar prodigy. i decided i'd try to write it, although i'd never written fic before. i thought it'd be like, 5 chapters tops. i wasn't sure i'd ever even _post_ it.
> 
> and now here we are, literally 11 separate fics later, at the end of the series - and there's still credence's POV of the last part to come, as well as maybe some add-ons to go in the gaps of the series. so far this series has 187,786 words in it. the words in these last few parts are definitely better than the first few, and it's nice to see my growth as a writer since then. writing this has taught me so much! and i can't believe that this ended up being as long as it is.
> 
> i also can't believe how many lovely people have reached out to tell me what it means to them, and how invested they are! all your comments and messages mean the entire world to me and i always wake up excited to see if i've got any AO3 emails. this series belongs to you all as much as it belongs to me :)
> 
> anyway, thank you all SO MUCH!!! i'm sad that it's over (chronologically, at least - the other lil fill-in-the-blanks will come soon) but i'm excited to finally share this with you.
> 
> <3

Credence taps his near-dried pen against the blank page of staff music in front of him. He’s been trying to transcribe this new piece for hours, yet his mind continues to wander, taking him hours and miles away.

This apartment makes it harder to write. Even though they've lived here for two years now, it still feels so new. He craves the comfort of familiarity, of _home —_ though he really hasn’t had a place feel like home since the first apartment he and Percy shared. He sometimes wonders who lives there now, and if they’d take pity on him if he cried on their doorstep, begging them to give his home back.

After he and Percy got married, they decided to pick out a new place together rather than choosing between one of theirs. It only seemed right. Credence just hopes this place starts to feel like home sometime soon: it’s a beautiful loft in Upper East Manhattan, with wide Victorian windows reminiscent of their old place, sun streaming in throughout the day, a map of sparkling lights at night. And, of course, a completely obnoxious price tag that they split down the middle at Credence’s absolute insistence. Before joining Macusa, he’d never even set one foot inside a place like this — knowing now that he could easily afford it all on his own makes him a bit lightheaded.

They haven’t decorated much beyond a few posters and paintings on the walls, some plants lining the windowsills, their instruments placed carefully on stands in the living room. Credence lets his mind drift to decorating schemes and wall colours, once again avoiding his new project. It’s the first major studio film he’s worked on in several years, and he has _deadlines_ now. He starts to long for his periods of easy freelance work, writing whenever he feels like it, whenever it comes to him.

Percy is out in the studio today, recording guitar for some big-budget tribute album that’s gonna make him tens of thousands. Enough for some new decor, that’s for sure. 

Credence misses him when he’s away. It’s a good feeling, though, and so unlike the way he missed him after they broke up. Then, it was a constant dull ache that reared its head and caused him to break down at the worst of times: at the grocery store when he saw a tin of the same hot cocoa mix Percy always bought, in airport terminals when he watched young couples kiss goodbye, in line at the record store when he saw _In Rainbows_ on display by the counter. It took years to stop his random and inconvenient crying, and several more to stop thinking about Percy on a daily basis.

When Percy left him, he told himself it was real. For good. That was the only way he could move forward, the only way he could force himself to get up and leave the apartment. Otherwise he would have stayed there on his knees awaiting the man’s return, a pathetic, hunched form on the kitchen floor, desperate and devoted. 

So he called Luna. And then Draco and Mal.

They sat around the kitchen table and made a game plan. All business, no emotion. They would pack up his things and get him a storage unit. He’d stay with Luna until he found another apartment. He’d get a new phone with a new number. Draco and Mal would hold onto the photos and remnants of sentimentality — things Credence couldn’t bear to look at but also couldn’t bring himself to throw away.

Most of the work putting things in boxes was done by the three of them while he sat on his ass on the living room floor and sobbed. It should have been embarrassing but it wasn’t; they were all so kind and understanding. They chatted and joked with him as though he wasn’t a fucking wreck in lumpy clothes with snot down his face. It made him love them ten times more.

It was a petty move, he knows that. Leaving so quickly. Percy had told him he could keep the apartment but how could he? How could he possibly stand to be there when Percy returned for his belongings, let alone _live_ there all by himself? No, the only option was to leave: quick and clean, no time to let his heart protest. But God, it did.

Every night for weeks following, he’d cry in Luna’s arms, curled up in her bed where she let him sleep when he was too terrified and devastated to sleep alone. He would wake from nightmares, crying out, and she’d be there, holding onto him, speaking to him in soothing tones.

“I should go back,” he would sob. “I should go see him. I didn’t even leave a note.”

And she would comfort him, hugging him close, petting his hair back. “He’ll be okay, Credence. It’s time to take care of yourself now.”

Luna is gone now, living in San Francisco with some pop producer she met a few years ago. Fell crazy in love and didn’t look back. She still calls sometimes, and was cautiously supportive when Credence informed her of his and Percy’s reunion.

Cautiously supportive. That was the general consensus of everybody when they found out. Thankfully, Percy had agreed that they shouldn’t have a huge, elaborate wedding, and so they’d simply had a night with a few guests: Tina and Newt, of course, Modesty (who’d been beyond overjoyed when she heard the news), Percy’s parents, and Seraphina. Dinner and a night out dancing, that’s all they needed. The matching rings were more than enough.

He’d considered inviting Luna, but something kept the phone out of his hand. It felt almost like a _betrayal,_ which sounds ridiculous even in his head, but he felt it regardless. She had let him stay with her for nearly a month after Percy left him, promised her he’d move on, promised her he’d keep himself safe…

Once he began to get nervous about overstaying his welcome, he decided to start looking for his own place. In the meantime he went to stay with Draco and Mal for what was meant to be just a weekend at their Brooklyn apartment. He had never intended to end up with Draco; it just happened. Maybe it was the familiarity of the boy, of his lips and his body. Maybe it was just loneliness, and he was the closest thing. It took the edge off. It was nice, for a long time — it was nice but it wasn’t Percy. 

And then there was Joshua. Draco brought Credence to Chicago, but Joshua kept him there. He was a hurricane, a toxic and violent storm that walked into Credence’s life and ripped it apart. Credence had been drawn so quickly into the excitement because it was so much like Percy — the drugs, the alcohol, the constant partying. He didn’t work. He didn’t have to. He could live forever on Macusa’s royalties. He went rogue in the wake of Percy, that’s how Luna put it.

But no matter how many drugs he did, no matter how fucked up he got every single night, he never reached the same heights he had with Percy. And so he checked himself into rehab and left Joshua without another word.

In the interim, when he was alone, an acquaintance with connections in the film industry lined him up with a job scoring a small independent film. All at once, he fell madly in love with writing soundtracks, creating atmospheres and soundscapes, holing himself up in the small apartment he rented and making soaring and beautiful instrumentals that he could hide behind, never having to perform, never having to show his face. It was a release.

And then Caleb. Caleb was so quiet and sweet, meeting with him to do a brief interview over coffee and then boldly asking him to dinner as they were putting on their coats. Caleb, with his bright and shiny eyes and his model-worthy face. He really didn’t deserve to end up with someone like Credence.

But Caleb was the first one that Credence felt he could maybe love, at least with the small part left of his heart that wasn’t reserved for Percy. It’s not like anyone would ever give him what Percy did, but maybe he could have something quiet and comfortable, maybe he could be with somebody kind and gentle. He and Caleb had fun together. They went out dancing and they went to movies and they had lots of sex, all over both of their apartments, collapsing together in an entanglement of boyish limbs, panting and sweating and smiling. 

Caleb didn’t bat an eye the first time Credence had a breakdown — memories of Ma, memories of Percy, memories of drug-fuelled nights all morphing together into some horrific landscape that dragged him under more often than he’d like to admit. Caleb _dealt_ with it. He never raised his voice. He never called Credence names, or intimidated him, and he certainly never hit him. He talked him through every panic attack, every gasping nightmare, every despondent day.

It was all very picturesque. Credence honestly was ready to move to Sweden, to start some kind of a life with him. They even adopted a dog together, sort of. Caleb’s parents are nice people. It could be _comfortable._

He never lets himself think about it for very long. If he does, it sends him into a spiral of guilt, because Caleb never deserved what Credence did to him. That phone call was one of the hardest he’s ever had to make — _hi, sweetheart, listen, I can’t come to Sweden with you, no, I didn’t get on the flight, I’m so sorry, and also I can never see you again. I know you have an apartment ready for us in Stockholm and I know you were going to propose to me — no, Caleb, I’m not an idiot, of course I knew — but I can’t, I can’t, I just can’t._ Mumbling into the receiver as Percy drove them away from the airport. Head ducked down to hush his words. Tears burning at the corners of his eyes.

But he’d never felt so certain of anything.

Really, Caleb is meant to be in Sweden. He’d been saying as much since the moment they’d met. He wasn’t born or raised there, but he’d been on many trips until his parents finally decided to settle downin Gothenburg and Caleb stayed in Chicago where he grew up. His heart was always Scandinavian, and Credence has always belonged in New York. Chicago never felt right. The moment he dragged Caleb with him back to Brooklyn, it was like waking up from a long and agonizing dream.

When he first met Caleb, he had a hell of a lot more self worth than he did when he was with Percy. Back then, any sort of confidence he developed was fully dependent on the other man, on his praise and guidance and approval. When Credence was thrown out into the real world, truly on his own for the first time, fresh out of rehab and starting a brand new career — he felt the beginnings of something akin to pride.

That hasn’t gone away. It’s different this time, with Percy: though at the core, their feelings remain the same frenzied and passionate and all-consuming love, they manage to contain it a little bit better, to shape it into something healthy and comfortable. There had been a stupid little part of him that thought maybe Percy wouldn’t like him so much as he is now. Back then he was dependant and needy, always around, always there for Percy’s every request, always turning to him like a child in need of direction. But Percy seems even more enamoured with who he is today, constantly waxing poetic about how well Credence carries himself, how successful he’s become, how beautiful he looks when he doesn’t try to hide himself.

Their sex is gentler now. The first time, they spent hours re-learning each other’s bodies: his own, now thirty two, is softer around the edges — still slender but not quite as breakable as in his younger years. Percy’s, nearing forty now, is so strong and sturdy, his arms big and permanently warm, his chest hair salted with light grey. It makes Credence blush like a teenager. 

They have nothing left to prove, nothing left to push violently through. Where they used to crash into each other, taking and giving pain and pleasure without thought, only force and fervour, now they come together slowly, softly. Before, Credence thought he wanted the pain, wanted the aggression, needed it to absolve him of all his imagined sins, all his shame and self-loathing. Now, he likes to be touched gently, likes Percy to care for him in a way that makes him feel like he’s younger again, like he’s growing up the right way. It makes him a little bit sad, sometimes, when he thinks about how he spent those years in a fit of violent turmoil, how they destroyed each other so quickly and so fully. But there’s no use in lamenting that now; they have all the time in the world to repair.

His body still hurts sometimes, deep and dull little aches built up over what really was twenty-four years of physical trauma. A slow-motion shattering of each and every bone. When he wakes up hurting, Percy takes his time massaging him from shoulders to calves, rubbing soft lotion into his back and his hands, touching him so gently until he’s pliant and relaxed and every little ache is drawn out into Percy’s hands: like penance for the hurt he caused, a slow repair of everything he broke. 

Credence knows Percy is tired. He can see it in the shallow lines around his eyes, the downward quirk of his lips that seems to have become engraved in his expression. Six months in rehab — Credence can’t even imagine Percy sitting in an awkward support-group circle, living in a white-walled room in some institution in the middle of nowhere. His own feeble rehab stint was barely three weeks long: a quick detox and then he was sent back out into the world with a few brochures and a burnt out sinus. When he tries, he can sometimes remember the rush, the flip-switch of coke in his system, the slow drip of red when he went too fast. He doesn’t miss it, not at all, but he’s grown past being ashamed.

The door of the apartment clicks open and Credence is startled out of his thoughts. He sets his pen down and runs a hand through his hair, a little embarrassed at the blank-page evidence of how little work he did today. He gets up and goes out into the living room to greet Percy, whose cheeks are pink from the Autumn cold, chin tucked into his scarf, guitar case slung over his shoulder.

“Hi,” Credence says softly, all but wrapping himself around the man entirely, long arms thrown over his shoulders, warm lips against his cool neck.

“Hi,” Percy replies, holding him around the waist and kissing the side of his head. “Did you miss me that much?”

“I did,” Credence sighs. “I haven’t been very productive today.”

Percy chuckles. “That makes two of us. I sat through the rest of the guys laying down their tracks and then barely finished my part on one song. You’d think they’d only have me come when they’re ready for me, considering my hourly rate.”

“Oh, you’re so _fancy_ ,” Credence murmurs, pressing kisses all around the crook of Percy’s neck, down to where a patch of his shoulder peeks out between his scarf and collar. “I didn’t write a thing.”

“Did you eat lunch?”

After all these years, the tone of Percy’s voice still sends a pleasant shiver down his back. It’s only an echo of his commanding tone from their former relationship, but that gentle firmness of a caretaker is still present in the way he questions Credence’s eating habits, makes sure he gets his work done on time, reminds him about appointments and obligations. The difference now is that Credence could manage fine on his own, and of course he remembers all of his responsibilities, of _course_ he always meets his deadlines — Percy does it out of love, not out of necessity. And that makes all the difference.

Credence nods, nose brushing the shell of Percy’s ear. “I ate lunch. Did you?”

“Didn’t have time. You want to go out? Get some dinner?”

“Can we order in?” Credence’s lips are at his earlobe now, slightly parted, just running gently over the skin. He’s hungry, but it’s cold outside and already nearing dark. The sun sets early in the evening these days. Percy tilts his head with a small smile.

“Sure, baby. What do you want?”

“Spring rolls,” Credence whispers, nipping at his cheek. “And Pad Thai.”

Percy pulls back and holds him an arms length away, laughing softly. “Let me go order. Get some dishes, we can eat in bed.”

In this apartment, they’ve moved the television into the bedroom. Percy declared that they’ve done enough work in their lifetime, and they deserve to reach the pinnacle of laziness sometimes. They find themselves often eating breakfast or dinner in there, take out boxes spread out around them, whichever Netflix series they’re currently binging in full HD on a 60 inch screen. It’s an indulgence, and a big one at that. Now that they’re both so busy, Credence treasures that time more than anything.

He sets some paper plates on the bedside table and then sits back in the plush cloud of pillows, toying with the ring on his finger as he waits for Percy to return. It’s beautiful, intricately carved and studded with tiny diamonds, but subtle enough that it doesn’t draw too much attention. He twists it around his long, skinny finger, peering at the design, sighing as he listens to Percy rattling off their order in the other room.

It’s been a little strange, returning to a relationship that was so public before. When Percy left, Credence avoided the internet for months, having absolutely no desire to see their split rehashed in headlines or comment boards. When he finally braved the depths of Twitter and Instagram on one night of particularly strong self-loathing and misery, it was exactly as he’d expected: these fans who don’t even _know_ them had seemed almost as devastated as he was. Some of them had lewd comments to share, some speculated the various reasons for the relationship ending. Credence was especially offended by one that claimed it was because Percy was a ‘sugar daddy’ who had ‘run dry’.

By the time they got back together, the media’s interest in Macusa was virtually nonexistent. They haven’t performed since 2014, and their social media accounts have been deserted for just as long. Aside from the ‘where are they now’ pieces and the die-hard fans who can’t let go, they’re mostly left alone. Credence is sure that somewhere out there there’s a conspiracy site about their relationships and fans speculating about every detail of their lives, but he stays off that side of the internet entirely now. If Percy sees anything, he doesn’t tell him, and Credence is grateful for that. 

“It’ll be here in forty minutes,” Percy informs him, finally kicking off his shoes as he comes into the bedroom. Credence smiles at him and opens his arms.

“Come here and cuddle me.”

He does, flopping down into bed beside Credence and pulling him up to wrap around his side, one hand on his broad chest, head tucked in beneath his shoulder. Credence traces the line of his collar, looking up at Percy’s face, which is currently pondering the ceiling above them. 

“What are you thinking about?”

Percy breaks his gaze, peering down at Credence. “Almost three years.”

Credence smirks, hand trailing down Percy’s front, unbuttoning his shirt as he goes. “Are we not counting the first five?”

“Don’t be cheeky. You know what I mean.”

“Mm. I do.” Credence finishes undoing Percy’s shirt pushes it open so that he can weave his hand into the man’s chest hair.

“My parents want us to go to dinner this weekend, by the way,” Percy says. “Now that good old Dad’s got the new liver and all that. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find out his latent homophobia was all in his dirty old liver.”

Credence stifles a disbelieving laugh. “ _Percy,_ ” he scolds. “What a terrible thing to say.”

Percy reaches down and squeezes Credence’s ass. Credence squirms happily against him and Percy pushes one leg between his thighs, letting Credence press closer. It makes him feel somewhat like a teenager again, but in a really nice way. He tips his head up and kisses Percy slowly, tilting so he can slot their mouths together, deepening the kiss, opening himself to the older man. 

He was honest, that night he kissed Percy for the first time in seven years, when he was drunk and confused and afraid. He never let anybody else fuck him. That would have felt far too much like giving up the one little piece of Percy he had left. The one thing nobody else could touch. The thought of letting anybody else have him, in any sense of the phrase, left him feeling a sick and uneasy.

But he wanted sex. He wanted it in the same way that he’d wanted it after Ma died: a different facet of desire, more filling a void than truly searching for intimacy. And so he found people. It was surprisingly easy, though it felt strange and unnatural sitting at a bar by himself and waiting to be approached. When he was between relationships and feeling particularly empty he would find a place, and he would sit up at the bar with a vodka soda, and he would wait. Wait until somebody approached him, and then he would follow them home and fuck them face-down. He was never unkind. But they were never Percy.

_I don’t bottom for anybody,_ Joshua told him, and Credence had shrugged, so apathetic at that point that he would have been happy to step right out of the apartment building and find somewhere else to spend the night. But Joshua’s desire, his near-obsessive intrigue about Credence after only a few hours spent dancing together at a club, had won over: he let Credence inside him, panting out _okay, but next time, next time…_

_No,_ Credence had said, in a very small voice, and he doubts Joshua heard him. But he never asked again.

Credence has had quite a bit of sex at this point in his life. Maybe even verging on Percy’s numbers, though he doesn’t dare ask. _As long as we were both careful,_ Percy had told him, _I don’t want to know about it._

He’s content to leave it at that. He has no desire to be promiscuous anymore; he had his phase, now he just wants Percy. Percy, who knows his body more than anybody else does, more than anybody else ever could. Who can break him down to his most fragile state in less than a minute.

"Stay with me, baby," the man is murmuring, and Credence drifts back to the present.

“Sorry,” he says softly. He keeps doing that lately. Zoning out, floating away, lost in thought for long enough that Percy gets concerned sometimes. But now Percy’s got one hand cupping his ass and the other feeling up his chest through his thin shirt and he wants to be here, and now, and nowhere else. 

“Percy,” he breathes, diving back into a deep and brutally intimate kiss, and he's breathing Percy’s air, and they’re sharing each other's breath, keeping each other alive. 

They take their time undressing each other, peeling off layers, never breaking their kiss for more than a second, hungry and desperate, lips going swollen and red. When they’re fully naked they fold into each other’s bodies, two shapes fitting perfectly, moving together in a gentle wave, a swaying motion, gasping and whispering sweet and tender words. 

And then Percy is touching him, opening him with two slick fingers and everything is warm and cherry-red, little sparks behind his eyelids when his eyes fall closed, lips parting to breathe out the name of the man he loves.

Percy fingers him for a long time, watching Credence’s face, appreciating his soft little sounds and disbelieving smile. Credence has taken to laughing during sex — when the rush is too much and the feelings are too intense he can’t help it, his lips pull back and he practically _giggles_ , head tipped back when he comes. Percy loves it so much, Credence can tell, always kisses all over his face while he’s laughing, whispering words of praise and adoration. It makes everything seem a little less serious than it used to be.

When Percy drives three fingers deep into Credence, curling up, Credence’s voice falls out of him in an uncontrollable little _pleasefuckme —_ a sigh, a prayer. Percy turns him onto his back and presses him down into the soft silken sheets, enveloping him in his warmth, their bare bodies sticking together with sweat. Credence’s breath hitches when Percy pushes inside him, the sweet and delicious burn, feeling his body conform to accept the weight of the man, the essence of him, held so deep inside. He feels tears prickling in his eyes as Percy starts to move, kissing him deep and slow, arms wrapped around him so tight, so safe. 

And then he’s laughing, giggling and crying while Percy fucks him, one hand wrapped around his cock and stroking him slowly.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Percy’s voice is strained, a little out of breath, but his expression is one of fond amusement.

“Nothing,” Credence hiccups, eyes crinkling when he smiles up at Percy, adoring and so, so reverent. “I just love you.”

“I love you too,” Percy murmurs, and then he’s pressing in deeper, and Credence no longer has enough breath to speak or laugh or do much more than gasp as Percy takes him, takes him, _takes him._ He feels the pressure of love building up in the entirety of his body, filling him to the brim, and he’s ready to burst. He looks up at Percy, at the soft lines of his face, the flop of sweat-damp grey-brown hair falling into his eyes, the slack-lipped concentration, the beads of sweat on his shoulders. Every tiny part that makes up the man he loves more than anything, more than life itself, more than he could have ever believed he was capable.

And if he thought he truly loved Percy back then, when he was young and stupid and their relationship was built of conflict and cacophony — it’s nothing compared to what he feels today.

Credence turns his head, blinking away tears, eyes narrowing with pleasure as Percy keeps pushing in deeper, impossibly deep, reaching parts of him he didn’t even know existed. Night has fallen outside; the days are so short, giving way to these early winter evenings. Manhattan is lit up, never a single moment of silence, the city whirring on forever. It never stops.

_It will keep moving forever,_ Credence thinks. _It will keep moving even after we’re gone._

It’s a strange thought, what this city would be if they left it. They could move away; they could go anywhere, really. He’s learned that when money isn’t an object, it’s more a question of _when_ than _if._ He tries to picture himself and Percy in a remote Central American beach town, spending the rest of their lives in the sand, no winter, only endless sun. Or in a European city where nobody knows them, where everybody speaks in words they don’t understand, where everything works backwards. 

It’s enticing, in a way, the thought of running off together, leaving all this behind. The past to the past, the past to the sea. 

But here they are, and here they have always been. Credence watches out the window as the city lights flicker. In a few minutes, they’ll get up and answer the door, and then they’ll eat their dinner together in bed, wrapped up in sheets. After, they’ll set their dishes aside and swear they’ll clean up in the morning, and they’ll fall asleep folded into each other’s bodies under heavy blankets. Tomorrow, they’ll wake up and drink their coffee and Percy will go to the studio, Credence will finish his sheet music, and in the evening they’ll come together again in their sweet and comfortable routine.

Credence thinks back to the night they made love on the beach in Sussex, and how much brighter the stars were than they’ve ever been here in the city. They’re still there, though; underneath the blanket of light pollution, underneath the chaos of New York, the stars are still everywhere.

The world keeps turning, and stars are still everywhere, and they never end, not even when it’s over. They just keep going.


End file.
